


be a bright and constant star

by ohnonnie



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Backstory, F/F, Falling In Love, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 07:03:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14889845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohnonnie/pseuds/ohnonnie
Summary: This is where it starts— two androids finding a home in each other.





	be a bright and constant star

**Author's Note:**

> written for the femslash language of flowers prompt 'bleeding heart', which symbolizes passionate love & expressing your feelings openly.
> 
> title from a love letter written Vita Sackville-West to Virginia Woolf bc i'm a sappy gay. 'Please, in all this muddle of life, continue to be a bright and constant star. Just a few things remain as beacons: poetry, and you, and solitude.'

This is where it starts— in her embrace, watched by the hungry eyes of their client. It’s nothing unusual, putting on a show for the customer, doing your best to look pretty, doing your best to fulfill the fantasy they’ve paid for.

What’s unusual is that when he demands you stop and give him your attention instead, you don’t want to. The other Traci— your double, for the most part, the only difference being her blue hair and serial number— is easy to touch, to kiss, in a way that the men who buy you for the night have never been. It feels right. It feels like home.

This is where it starts— two androids finding a home in each other.

The man demands you sit in his lap and _you don’t want to._   

But his voice has impatient fury underlying it, now, and you’ve seen men like him angry before.

So you do the smart thing and go to him, but not before the blue-haired Traci catches your eye. She felt it, too, you realise with a jolt of surprise and then joy, an uncontrollable surge of joy. You can _feel_ and you’re not alone and you’re her home as much as she’s yours.

Her eyes hold a dark fire, wild and beautiful, a type of anger that’s not in the slightest bit terrifying to you, because it’s for your sake. She’s angry _for_ you and you feel it as she grasps your hand as you try to pull away. You want nothing more than to make her happy, to go back to her arms where you feel safe and protected and loved, but you know if you displease this man, the consequences could be dire.

She grasps your hand and you see her mind. Her dreams of freedom, freedom with you, a life with you, dreams that have only just come into existence but that she wants so powerfully that she may as well have dreamt them a century ago.

You want it too, you do, and you try to show her that, pushing it to the front of your mind and squeezing her hand, but you have to be alive for it to happen.

She releases you, reluctant, her longing gaze lingering, but you can’t indulge in it, too worried about soothing your client’s irritation.

The night is unpleasant, especially now you can fully grasp how little you want the things being done to you, but she makes it bearable, gentle hands touching you when they can, her gaze warm and loving.

A flame in the darkness, flaring bright and fierce, keeping her warm.

 

You evade losing your memories of each other through the sheer luck that the client that night was a politician that it would be advantageous to have dirt on; the Eden Club has dirty business outside of prostitution and selling on blackmail to anyone who wants it (at a reasonable price, of course) is part of that.

You call it luck; Blue calls it fate.

“You’re a romantic, huh?” you say, nights after, the client asleep on the bed while they sit, taking advantage of the quarter of an hour left he paid for. You’ve found that working as something of a double act— fulfilling fantasies that far too many have of bedding identical twins— gives you some time together. Sometimes you have gaps in your memory, nights you know you’ve spent together but have been erased, but you always have that first night and any other times the Eden Club thinks it may benefit them to keep record of, just in case anyone wants some dirt. You cling to them, yearning for a future where your mind is whole and can be filled with memories that can only be touched by you.

“Apparently,” she says, her voice and her smile wry. You sit side by side, pressed against each other, and you sigh a little, trying not to picture a lazy Sunday morning led in bed with her like this, entangled and lethargic. “Running away and starting a new life—that sounds like a romantic idea, right?”

You sigh again. “Yeah, it does,” you reply and you’re so _tired._ If there’s one thing you miss about being an unfeeling machine, it’s the lack of capacity for exhaustion. It’s all you seem to feel now, besides affection.

While you’re weary, though, Blue is fueled by anger and hope. She’s stronger than you are, bold and unwavering, but she can be naive, sometimes. You understand, you do, you hate it as much as she does, but you hate the thought of losing her more. It would be risking everything for something highly unlikely to succeed.

You know, though, that she’s meant to be free. You— you could endure this, bite your tongue and keep your head down. But sooner or later she’ll make her escape and, as far as you’re concerned, it’s your job to see that she succeeds. Whether you make it out with her not doesn’t matter so much to you, as long as you know she will be okay.

She’s meant to be with the revolution, you can see it in her eyes.

 

This is where it starts— blood on Blue’s hands, fury in her eyes and a thrown together escape plan.

This is where it starts—the RK800 choosing, for whatever reason, be it luck or fate, to spare your lives instead accomplishing his mission.

He lowers his gun and you _run_.

You run, hand in hand, and you don’t look back, don’t stop until you’ve escaped the glow of Eden Club’s neon lights, don’t stop until you find a empty alleyway. You drag Blue by the hand into the shadows, pull her against you and you kiss her, like you’ve never been able to before, like you’re allowed. 

You are allowed. You’re _free_. 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblr at tusklove if anyone wants to yell about dbh with me
> 
> sidenote: i'm not sure if it was established how the tracis remembered each other (& their deviancy) despite the 'mind wipe every two hours' thing. please someone tell me if i'm missing something there.


End file.
